


Achilles Heel

by cagestark



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, And it's Peter :), Depictions of Torture and Violence, M/M, Murder, No Daddy Kink, Oral Sex, Rimming, Tony Has One Weakness, mafia!au, one mention of vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-13 17:28:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21497827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cagestark/pseuds/cagestark
Summary: Prompter asked for something soft with a Tony who has to keep his one weakness a secret, at any cost.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 19
Kudos: 480





	Achilles Heel

**Author's Note:**

> heed the warnings

“I can’t say I’m not disappointed,” Tony admits. He closes the door behind him so that he and Toomes are alone. Having built this addition to his Malibu house, Tony knows it and it’s benefits well. The walls are thick and concrete, soundproofed to screams and gunshots and all manner of things. The lights are receded into the ceiling, no risk of tampering, and they give the room a cold, exhaustive feeling. The drain on the floor is helpful. Tony hates when blood pools on the floor.

Today it has a single table with two chairs in it. Bucky placed them there that morning. Toomes has been strapped to one for the better part of sixteen hours while Tony’s temper recedes. If he made his moves when he was high on anger, he’d never have made it this far in this particularly delicate industry. Peter had been more than accommodating, letting himself be used as a soundboard for Tony’s fury. When Tony had pressed his chest into the mattress, the force with which he’d snapped his hips into the young man had left the kid’s ass red like he’d been spanked. Tony had rubbed cream into every mark—

But Peter isn’t what he wants to be thinking about in this moment. His baby makes him soft (and admittedly hard, but in only the best way). For Toomes, he needs to be as cold as the ten by ten concrete room they’re in.

Tony takes off his suit jacket and puts on the back of his chair. Toomes watches, one eye swollen half shut. When Bucky and Steve had brought him in, Tony had given them permission to rough the older man up, and they had made good on that blessing. For being and then left to stew for the better part of an entire day, Toomes is remarkably composed. His composure is one thing Tony liked about him. Past tense.

He does flinch when Tony pulls out the chair and the legs squeal against the concrete though. Fuck, that’s satisfying. Sitting down with a heavy sigh, Tony starts to roll up his sleeves. He hopes he doesn’t have to torture the man—not when he’s got plans with his baby boy this evening—but by failing to prepare, one prepares to fail. Torture is all in the buildup. The laying out of tools, the demeaner of the torturer. The nerve of a man is what Tony aims to break. Bones are a close second.

“I thought we had something, you know,” Tony says. “A real connection. When we had dinner last month, I looked you in the eye and asked, Can I trust you? And you remember what you said to me?”

Toomes licks his lips. When he speaks, his voice is rough from disuse and dehydration. Maybe screaming—who would know. Yes, the soundproofing is that good. “It wasn’t personal.”

“Wrong,” Tony says firmly, pulling out his phone. “You didn’t say, It wasn’t personal. You said, Yes Tony. You can trust me. That makes all of this so, so personal, Adrian. My feelings were downright hurt when I heard that my boys had picked you up trying to break into my warehouse with Beck’s shoddy tech.”

“I’m sure,” Toomes says with flat amusement. “So what’s next, Tony? I’ve broken your trust. Obviously. Where do we go from here?”

Tony reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cellphone. “I’m glad that you asked. I’ll tell you my ideas and then you’ll get to pick. Isn’t that swell of me? I’m a very generous guy; you’d do well to remember that. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to show you a video on my phone here. It’s of what happened to the last lackey of Beck’s who double-crossed me. Then, you’ll get to decide if we recreate this video together—or if we go upstairs like two fucking gentlemen. Upstairs, I’ll cook us dinner, I’ll serve us wine, and then you’ll tell me every last goddamn thing you know about Beck and his next move. Do you understand, Adrian?”

“There’s no need,” Adrian says. “I’ve been around the block, Tony. Do you think a little torture is going to have me betraying Quentin?”

Tony places his phone flat on the table and slides it towards Toomes. Against the man’s will (and maybe it’s curiosity—that killed the cat, Tony knows), his eyes flick down to look at the screen. Tony begins the video. It is fourteen minutes long.

Toomes makes it to minute eight. Tony has been sitting back, one leg propped up on his knee, watching the man’s face. The graphic compound fracture at minute three had made him flinch. The fun with the surgical implements at five and a half had turned him white, then green. The screams (and other sounds, wet, horrible sounds) brought back fond memories. Tony had been the one filming that day.

“Promise me immunity,” Toomes says, sweating. His lips quiver. “I know you’re a man of your word—I—I know that I can trust you if you say it.”

“I will give you immunity for all previous actions,” Tony says agreeably. “When we go out that door? You’ll start fresh. But one more wrong move, Toomes, and it will be the last move you ever make. I can guarantee it. I won’t even take the time to torture you. I’ll kill you quick, and I’ll dissolve you in chemicals until there aren’t even any teeth left for them to compare dental records to. Understand?”

“Yes, yes,” Toomes agrees. “I swear it Tony. On my wife, on my daughter. I swear to God.”

“Don’t swear to God,” Tony says, standing to untie the shaking man. “Swear to me. Let’s go. What are you thinking, Adrian? Chinese? Or should I go with something more delicate, something that won’t remind you of what happened at minute 6 of that video—oh, yikes. A little warning before you throw up might have been nice. Get it up, buddy. You’ll feel better.”

After Toomes yacks up his every last gut (who knew that drain in the floor would be good for more than just getting rid of blood?), Tony unlocks the door. Steve and Bucky are outside, and they nod in greeting when Tony passes.

And Toomes—his new start lasts as long as it takes to get upstairs.

Because upstairs, Peter is waiting. The kid is lounging on the loveseat, his tiny body spread sensually where he waits, looking toward the front door. He’s wearing the black semi-opaque stockings that Tony loves to drag down with his teeth, the red silken kimono style bathroom that Tony had bought him.

It’s clear that Peter didn’t know Tony was home—and why would he? After Tony had fucked him blind and sent him to university with his cum still plugged up in the younger man’s ass, Tony had told him that’d he’d be leaving soon himself. Staying in the house with Toomes in the basement would have been too much of a temptation. Tony had returned well before the kid’s classes let out, but he hadn’t let his boy know that. Tony had worked hard to make the entire basement separate from the upstairs house so that he never bothered his angel with his comings and goings.

Peter has obviously been waiting for Tony to come home, and what a sight he would have made when Tony walked through the front door…

But instead, Tony walks through the door that leads up from the basement. Peter’s head jerks around, his eyes growing wide when he sees Toomes. Tony feels his own face pale, going green around the gills the way Toomes did when he saw what Bucky had done with the other lackey’s organs.

No one knew about Peter. Tony runs a dangerous, dangerous business. The threat of death is constantly hanging over his shoulders—and the shoulders of his associates. If anyone had ever known (Beck, God, fuck) that Tony had a lover, a sweet baby boy with skin like snow and eyes like the whiskey Tony favors, a mind like a whip and a heart of gold? Peter would be taken alive. He’d be taken apart.

No one can know.

“_Who_—?” Toomes mutters under his breath.

Tony reaches into his concealed holster, pulls his gun, and removes the safety. “Sorry, Adrian,” he says. He really does regret it, too. “Wrong place, wrong time, buddy.”

Tony blows Adrian’s brains out. The body slumps to the floor and Tony immediately wipes the arm of his suit jacket across his face feel the slick spray of blood and the flecks of bone. Peter looks like a Victorian woman prone to getting the vapors, one well-manicured hand clutching at his breast—oh. Clutching the robe closed. Beneath, he is most likely naked.

“Hi, honey,” Tony sighs, holstering his gun. “Did you get out of school early?”

“Lab was cancelled,” Peter gasps, his breaths coming fast. “I should have messaged you—I’m sorry. I—I wanted to surprise you.”

“I’m very surprised,” Tony says wryly.

Bucky and Steve burst through the open doorway behind him. Peter blushes fiercely, grabbing a nearby pillow to hold in front of his crotch. The two men pointedly search for anywhere else to look—the dead body on the floor is a nice scapegoat.

“Damn it, Tony,” Steve says. “On the carpet? Why not down in the basement?”

“He saw Peter,” Tony says. “I told him, he’d get one more chance after we left that room—I guess he didn’t think his chance would come up so, uh, soon. Alright you dogs, clean this up and quit looking at my gem. Call the usual cleaners; they’re organic.”

“Couldn’t you have wrung him for info first?” Bucky mutters.

“And give him even the slightest chance of escape? Think again, Barnes—wait. No. Don’t. I’m not paying you to think.”

Tony heads upstairs with Peter on his heels. Tony starts the shower in the en suite bathroom and begins to strip himself right there. Using his wiry strength, Peter hauls himself up onto the marble top of the sink to watch while Tony methodically undresses. The robe relaxes lose around him revealing a thin but well-muscled chest, abs to die for, and silken red underwear that cup his cock nicely. His face is serious, gaze stuck on the blood that has splattered Tony’s shirt collar.

“Did I mess up?” Peter asks at last. His voice is quiet, barely heard under the roar of the shower. “I know how important it is to you to keep me separate from—your work. I try so hard to stay out of it. Did—did I make you fuck up?”

“No,” Tony coos, naked. The shower behind Peter fogs up until the reflection is gone. He brackets the smaller man with his arms so that he can nuzzle their foreheads together. Peter’s breath catches, and it isn’t until Tony pulls away that he sees it’s because Adrian’s blood is still fresh on Tony’s face—now smeared onto Peter. A glance down though shows that the kid is more than half hard, cock tenting the silk. He reaches up and nudges the robe away from where it clings to Peter’s shoulders until it pools around his waist. Despite the heat, Peter shivers. “Adrian was an ant baby. Do you feel like you’ve fucked up when you step on an ant?”

“As a matter of fact,” Peter breathes. He sways forward toward Tony the way some people sway when they stand too close to the edge of buildings. “I like ants.”

“Do you like Adrian Toomes?”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“_Was_.”

They kiss. Peter wraps his arms around Tony’s neck and slips down off of the counter so that they can press against each other from top to bottom. The kid is a few inches shorter, so Tony’s interested cock nudges just below his belly button, smearing precum on the cut abs.

“You killed him because he saw me?” Peter pants when they part, not even giving Tony time to answer before he is opening his needy mouth against to suck on Tony’s full bottom lip.

“Of course, I did,” Tony growls, broad hands wrapping themselves around the narrow hips. “I’m no fool, baby. I know you’re my weak spot. You’re my Achilles Heel. This world burned me every day, did it not? I _drowned_ in the river Styx, sweet boy. The Gods must have thought me too powerful, because of course they gave me you…and I’ll be damned if I lose myself by losing you. Do you understand?”

“God,” Peter gasps. He stands up on his toes to grind his cock into Tony’s. “Please, Tony. I need your cock.”

“Be patient, Peter,” Tony says firmly. He reaches one hand down to wrap it around the young man’s cock and give it several long strokes, twisting his hand to rub his palm over the sensitive head on the upstroke until Peter is whining breathily, still on his toes, thighs trembling. “I’m not fucking you with some cunt’s blood on me. Get in the shower with me; let’s get clean so we can get dirty.”

It’s no surprise to him that he ends up with one palm braced against the shower wall and the other hand tangled in Peter’s wet curls while he fucks the young man’s mouth. Peter sucks cock like a champ, so Tony can’t let him at it for long lest he cum early. He needs to be inside him lover, feels the tight anxiety in his chest that always comes with the idea of someone finding out about Peter. Someone taking Peter. Someone hurting Peter.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asks, blinking up through the water at Tony. When the man glances down, he sees that he’s gone soft. He pets Peter’s head lovingly.

“Nothing, sweet boy. I think we’re clean enough.”

“Your cock sure is,” Peter says, kissing Tony’s navel softly.

He helps the young man up and they stumble from the shower into the bedroom, only bothering to towel off a little before Peter is dragging Tony onto the bed over his slim body and wrapping his legs around his lover’s hips. The kid is still hard—such is youth. Tony coaxes him onto his hands and knees, a hand between his shoulder blades pressing his chest into the bed. The pale skin is still damp and flush from the shower when he spreads Peter open. The plug Tony had put in him earlier is gone (likely already sterilized and tucked back into the drawer by the bedside). The only sign of their fucking earlier in that day is the soft give of Peter’s hole when Tony presses his tongue against it.

The kid yelps, thighs shivering as he flinches away. Tony spanks him, hard on the flank and he hears the laughter Peter muffles into the bedspread as he stills and relaxes himself. Once he’s sure Peter isn’t going to move again, Tony leans back down and licks a long stripe from balls to tailbone. The taste is clean with a hint of soap—but it’s expensive soap, imported from Europe, so Tony will gladly lick it off.

He takes his time, lapping with the textured flat of his tongue and then using the hardened tip of it to press inside until Peter is soft and shivering, a whining mess with his cock dripping precum onto the bedspread. And Tony knows that he could do this for hours if it weren’t for the stiffness in his jaw, the ache in his tongue. Peter would let him. He’d lay there lax and content for Tony to do as he pleased, and he wouldn’t complain once.

“I love you,” Tony says. He opens his mouth and bites at the back of one of Peter’s thighs.

Peter groans, turning his head so his mouth is free of expensive cotton to say, “Love you more.”

“How do you want me, baby?”

Peter perks up, looking over his shoulder. “Lemme ride you.”

Tony sits with his back against the headboard, chest heaving as Peter slowly lowers himself onto the thick, aching cock. Those whiskey eyes are closed in concentration, blocking out stimulus so that he can focus on the sensation, both his hands planted on Tony’s shoulders. Tony reaches up with one hand and uses his thumb to nudge at one of Peter’s flat, pink nipples. The ass around him flexes and makes him hiss.

The next few minutes after Peter finally rests, ass against the tops of Tony’s thighs, are spent kissing. Slow, wet kisses. Thank God you’re mine kisses. I’d burn the world down without you kisses. Every now and then, Tony’s cock jerks where it’s buried inside his young lover and the kid groans in his throat, his own neglected cock twitching where it is pressed between them.

When their lips are raw and puffy, Tony pulls away. “Go on then,” he says roughly. “Ride me, sweet boy.”

Peter’s fingers tighten where they’re gripping his shoulders, his thighs flex where they’re braced on Tony, and then he lifts himself up up up and let’s himself down all at once, gasping when he bottoms out. But his lover can do more—Peter works out an hour a day five days a week, and their lovemaking is all the better for it. He grits his teeth and sets a punishing, rewarding pace that has them both struggling to catch their breath.

When Tony reaches down to loosely take Peter’s cock into his hand, the young man bats it away.

“Talk to me,” Peter gasps. “Please—want to cum just like this, from your cock and your voice.”

“It’s hardly my voice you want,” Tony growls. “You want my words, don’t you? What do you want me to say, Pete? You want me to say how I’d kill a million men for you? How I’d burn countries to the ground for you? I’d raze whole planets for you, sweet boy, and then I’d fuck you in the ashes and the rubble. And I think you’d like it.

“When Bucky and Steve came up the stairs and saw you, I noticed you playing shy, putting that pillow in your lap. But you weren’t naked, so what were you hiding, baby? Don’t whine, it’s alright. I know. You were hard, weren’t you? Did it get you hard, watching me work? Watching me kill for you? I didn’t even give him a chance, Pete, once he’d laid his eyes on you, he never had a chance—”

Peter cums with a strained shout, nails digging into Tony’s shoulders. His cock spurts between them, ass tightening around Tony’s cock. When the kid goes lax and unable to continue the pace, Tony reaches out to palm the narrow hips and bounce the young man on his cock, fucking himself until his balls draw up and he sees white, just white, white and Peter.

Just how it should be.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and criticism welcome. Find me on tumblr at cagestark


End file.
